


Child of the Sea

by grownocean



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Droughtjoy 2017, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 04:09:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11912922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grownocean/pseuds/grownocean
Summary: While he waits for the Queen to come back, Theon has a few encounters and reflects on his past and the universe.The sea is there to remind him that he still has a place in this world.





	Child of the Sea

Growing up, Theon could remember a few things of his life back home.  
It wasn’t much, barely enough to compensate everything he desperately missed since he had started living in Winterfell.  
Anything that wasn’t like the world he once had known.  
He remembered the fresh seaside smell of Pyke and the mist that coloured its shores. He remembered the moonlight reflection on the sea, a delicate sight he used to admire from his window when he wanted to escape adults and their war talks.   
He remembered his mother. Strong and full of character, she would always show him her kindest side and tell him stories.  
It’s hard for him to remember those tales now, except for the one of the young nameless lady that lives beyond the moon, and whose silvery hair is so long it can reach the great sea. 

“Who’s this lady?” Theon would ask her, “and what does she do up there? Does she feel lonely?”

His mother’s imagination wasn’t strong enough to answer his questions.  
She had a frown on her face all the time, the Ironborn mark, a sign of their constant worry about the future that everyone else in Westeros would mistake for excessive pride.  
“One cannot live on the sea alone” he would always hear her say.  
He couldn’t understand those words when he was a child.  
The sea was everything to him - a companion of games and secrets, races on the water edge and figures drawn in the sand.  
He came to understand them later, when he was already a ward in Winterfell: in a land where almost nothing grows, a mother surely struggles to feel anything but worry.

In Winterfell, when a northerner spoke ill of the Ironborn, Theon would always fight fire with fire.  
He grew up thinking he was as smug as the Ironborn were known to be, even though he couldn’t remember much himself.  
He hadn’t had the time to process anything about his homeland, and his memories were nothing more than infant dreams of bays, rocky shores and his castle. 

Right now, sitting by the window of his room, he looks at the sun rising on Dragonstone and he feels like he’s one of his islands.  
He thinks that nothing can grow in him anymore: not a single feeling, whether it be good or bad, and certainly not new thoughts other than the merciless memories of the past. He’s not different from the vegetation in Pyke.  
He’s a plant killed by too much water, destined to be uprooted, no longer able to partecipate to the game of life.  
The sun is rising in the sky and he feels trapped in darkness.

 

 

Dragonstone’s shores are different than Pyke’s.  
They are uniform, gorgeous and gold-coloured, as if they didn’t show any sign of abandonment.  
Perhaps, Theon thinks, that’s exactly what gave them so much beauty. Where men are not around, nature regenerates and grows stronger.  
Pyke’s shores, over time, were molded after their own people instead. They were full of rocks that clumped together in small mountains, there where the sea ate the land more forcefully and carried more stones, and where boats and ships were ready to sail into the wind.  
He decides that the shores of Pyke were more beautiful, with their flaws and all.  
He remembers spending his days throwing rocks into the sea, choosing the flat ones so he could make them skip across the water.  
He was good at it, then. He doubts he would be able to do it now.

The winter sun is still strong enough to feel like fire on his scarred body. He stares at the horizon hoping for the Dragon Queen to come back.  
She’s his only hope of saving Yara, he can’t do it alone. He can’t even dare think about his sister and the pain she might be going through right now. Her men are nowhere to be seen, hidden inside their ships. He really doesn’t want to stay with them, and he has managed to avoid Jon quite easily since their first meeting.  
Theon knows how to make himself small. He knows how to make himself quiet. 

He thinks he’s fine until he sees Jon approaching the beach, followed by Davos.  
Here he is, the King in the North, an odd mixture of honour and awkwardness, like a fish out of water that is suddenly unable to breathe.  
If things were different, and Theon didn’t feel so empty, this sight would make him laugh to tears.  
He used to laugh at everything, once. He used to take everything as a joke because he was scared of thinking about his life too seriously.

When Jon notices him from the end of the narrow path that goes all the way up to the castle, he looks at him with anger.  
For a fraction of second Theon sees Robb in front of him, the Robb who was about to declare war on the south, surprised by the turn of the events and determined at the same time. It’s only a second, though, because Robb was different from Jon. He had inherited his facial features from the Tullys, along with an odd eloquence not quite peculiar to the northerners and a tendency, annoying at times, to see the good in many things because he knew no evil until it was too late.  
A ten-year-old who’s been taken away from his mother can’t grow up seeing the good in many things.  
  
Theon lowers his head and feels his heart beating too fast, suddenly scared of getting hit as he walks past Jon.  
Nothing happens, but he finds himself short of breath and unable to stop fiddling with his remaining fingers.  
He quickens his pace, his mind travelling too fast. He thinks that the sun over Pyke was prettier than the one in Winterfell, because pretty much anything it’s more beautiful when there is the sea, but he also thinks that the sun in Winterfell had it worse, having to shine on those immense, cold lands.  
He remembers how difficult it was for Robb to guide northerners who, albeit loyal and fierce, couldn’t stand fighting so far from their homes.  
  
Robb was like the sun of Winterfell as winter started to approach. A summer child who had to face the harsh reality of the world for the first time, and so he was shining timidly, but constantly.  
Theon loved Robb. He really loved him with every ounce of his being like he never loved anyone else in Winterfell, but there were times even Robb had caused him pain. Robb treated him like a brother, but never as the Stark he secretly wanted to be when he was younger.  
Theon didn’t blame him then, and he certainly doesn’t blame him now.  
He knows Robb loved him too, as he knows that most of the pain came from not having a family to belong to anymore.  
He has Yara now, he thinks. He has Yara but he can’t even bring her back to safety, so maybe it was for the best.  
He was taken away from his own blood because he wasn’t worth of love.  
He was tortured, cut into pieces until there was no Theon left, because he wasn’t worth of anything.  
  
He’s weak, so weak that when he feels a hand on his shoulders he can’t think straight anymore, he shoves the person with all the strength he has.  
Before he even realises he finds himself being held to the ground. His eyes stare into the winter sun that is trying to shine in spite of the cold and the wind. It’s a sun that hides behind the clouds but always comes back, like Robb used to do after a stupid fight.  
Robb who would always come up to him with his apologetic look, and he would let him use his sword then, and he would tell him things like: “I’m sorry, Theon. You will always be my brother, and my best friend too.”

It’s Jon who’s holding him to the ground while Davos, the person he apparently just pushed, gets up slowly.  
Jon’s hands are like fire against his chest and he really wants to scream. He thinks of the cross he was tied to for so long, and the wind against his skin feels like Ramsay Bolton’s breath on his neck.  
  
“Please, get off of me” he murmurs, but Jon doesn’t let go, he says something to him and Davos is speaking too but their words don’t reach his ears. 

“I’m sorry” he sobs. “Please get off of me. Reek is sorry, so sorry, please don’t hurt me, please.”  
He keeps muttering the same words over and over. Jon lets him go and he gets up fast, running away as much as his limp can can allow him to and until his tired body refuses to move.  
He turns his back to everything: the sea, the beach, even the winter sun.

 

 

When Theon was younger, he thought Lord Stark would marry him to Sansa. It was a foolish thought, one of those dreams only a young boy can have. Theon was growing up well aware of his status. It wasn’t enough to make him rest easy, and he never really felt completely safe in Winterfell.  
It was, however, good enough to make him dream about a future where he could be part of their family and not just a ward.  
He was the heir to the Seastone Chair. He really used to think that this reason alone would be good enough for a possible union.

The winter sun plays with the clouds and Theon is staring at it from his room.  
In his mind, he always thinks of Pyke as a big, cloudless sky. It’s far from the truth, and he knows it. He knows how windy and cloudy the islands can be, but this doesn’t stop him from thinking about them as he used to when he was a child. When he first arrived in the north, Winterfell looked terrifying and cold despite being summer, and Theon’s dreams about blue, bright skies were the only escape he had.  
Over time, he ended up having several memories of his homeland in sunny days, and not even one of Pyke during a storm.  
The clouds are in fact wonderful, he only thinks about it now. They really can be anything they want. They can bring rain and they can wait for the sun, and reveal themselves in the most picturesque shapes. He wishes he was a cloud too, so that he could turn himself into a better, braver and stronger man.

Sansa, last time they were in Winterfell, was exactly like a cloud.  
In the two minutes that took him to tell her the truth about Bran and Rickon, she turned her rage into relief, and by the time they managed to escape Winterfell, her hostility towards him had turned into empathy and a gentle embrace, the first kind gesture he had received in years.  
Sansa brought the storm at first. She looked at him with disgust printed on her face, and then she begged him to help her with desperate, terrified eyes. He was so used to his numbness that he didn’t know how to react to her misery.  
He didn’t believe he could deserve a different life anymore. He had stopped thinking about it, at some point.  
Then it was the calm after the storm, the calm of being held by Sansa before heading home.  
The calm of being reunited with Yara, who struggled to show the same kind of affection because that’s what their father left her in legacy, yet she still tried to help him, to be somewhat gentle. She would stare at him intensely thinking he was so gone that he wasn’t able to notice, but he  didn’t mind the attention.  
There was a lot of silence between them, words never spoken, but he felt safer than he ever did in his whole life.  
It was calm, and then it wasn’t. Then it came the storm of having to leave Pyke again, and then the calm of gaining a little hope with Yara on his side and the Queen accepting their allegiance, and then the storm again.  
Theon, now, is left with nothing. There’s neither serene nor tempest in his heart.  
The only thing he has left is windy Dragonstone with its grey sky and a promise of rain that is never fulfilled, a limbo of wait and self-hate.

Theon went through times where he really wanted to write to Sansa. As soon as he heard about a huge battle in the north, he wanted to make sure she was okay, and how she was holding up, and if she, too, was feeling so broken to the point of wanting to tear all the rotten pieces from her heart.  
He wanted to ask about Ramsay. He knows now that if Jon is here it can only means they got Winterfell back.  
He knows it, deep in his heart, but he is too terrified to ask questions, and the idea of receiving a different answer is enough to keep him away from trying.  
Sometimes his nightmares are like this, with Sansa sending a raven where she tells him to be careful, that Ramsey is still alive and could come after him. And sometimes his nightmares are even worse, with Ramsay eventually finding him, laughing at him sadistically while he says “did you miss me Reek? I bet you did.”  
There were times Theon would scream so loud that Yara had to slap him in the face.  
“Wake up, Theon” she would say. “Wake the fuck up, Theon, please” and he would wake up then, covered in sweat, too scared to open his eyes.  
Yara wasn’t good with words, but she would always caress his hair for a short while, her silent way of telling him to go back to sleep.

An answer from Sansa could be calm and could be storm and while Theon is terrified, he also thinks than anything would be better than this grey sky that doesn’t change. Any kind of emotion would be better than this emptiness, even a bad one, but he’s too tired to feel anything, too weak to even believe he can be able to.  
He tries to be content with these clouds that are still pretty, and that still embrace change, even though they don’t resemble anything in particular to him, not a person, not an animal, not a thing, in that he has forgotten how variegated and stunning this world can be.

 

 

He leaves his room when it’s dark.  
He’s not particularly hungry, he stopped being hungry a long time ago. Any food tastes like the leftovers Ramsay used to give him when he was lucky, and the prolonged periods of time he was left starving did so much damage he still finds it hard to eat.    
He drags himself through the castle to the small room he usually stays in. The food is left there for the guests and he likes that he gets to be alone this late at night. This time, though, he’s not alone. Jon has already claimed the room with his loyal Davos seated next to him, the pair engaged in a quiet conversation that seems too important for him to hear.  
He tries to walk away without being noticed, but it’s too late. He blames his limp for making him so slow.

Davos is the first to notice him. “Lord Greyjoy” he greets him, while Jon’s eyes bore into him.

Theon doesn’t respond to the greeting. The word lord means nothing to him now, in the same way freshwater means nothing to a child of the sea. He’s about to leave, but Davos insists.  
  
“You must be hungry. There’s still enough food here.”

Theon doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to sit at their table, but he also made a promise to himself he would try to eat more.  
Yara always made sure he did. She would put a bowl of soup for him on the table every day, sitting across him when he said he didn’t want to eat. She would stare at him so intently until Theon couldn’t take it anymore and started eating.  
Yara is not here and he needs to save her. He won’t be able to do that if he doesn’t take care of himself.  
He approaches the table cautiously. He looks at Jon for a second while he seats down and he reads a mist of hostility and surprise on his face.

Davos clears his throat. “Well, as I was saying, about the drag-” but Jon shakes his head.  
  
“No” he says, and he takes a sip of wine. “I’m not doing this now.”

Theon keeps his eyes down, he stares at the eggs and the barley bread on the table.  
The years he and Jon spent living under the same roof in Winterfell feel so distant now that he almost wonders if they really happened.  
He has heard some voices of a danger beyond the wall, which explains the reason why Jon is here now. He didn’t ask anyone, he didn’t try to find out more, and it’s not because he doesn’t care.  
He has no place in the north anymore. All the months spent beside Robb, the war plans and the councils, when he still had a role to play, they all seem like a dream now. He feels like he has no land to fight for anymore, not even his own. Not even himself.

“Well” Davos fills the silence as he stands up, “we have long days ahead of us, I think I’ll go to rest.”

Theon dares look at them. Jon is staring at Davos intently. Davos looks back at him with the same, deep stare, before he addresses Theon with a nod and excuses himself from the room. Jon doesn’t follow him. He doesn’t look at Theon, either, as he pours himself more wine.  
Theon goes back to his food. He plays with it but he doesn’t eat. He notices that his hands are shaking.  
When Jon finally stares at him, he seems less enraged than he was before, but not any less resentful.

“I still mean what I said” he tells him. “The only reason I’m not killing you is because you saved Sansa.”  
  
Theon doesn’t look at him, he gazes beyond the window in front of him instead. The night sky is cloudy, but he is glad that he can see the stars.  
  
“I didn’t save her” he mutters.

Jon seems both uncomfortable and annoyed. “That’s what she told me.”

Theon wishes he could just sleep. He wishes he could sleep and never wake up again.  
  
“She saved herself” he replies, and his voice trembles a little. “I helped, but we escaped because she wanted to leave.”

“And you didn’t?”

Theon hates himself. He despises himself for everything he has done, when he thinks of Robb and the two innocent kids and his mind goes to dark places and he wishes he was still a prisoner in Winterfell. He almost thinks of Reek in a comforting way, because following orders is much more easier than having to hold conversations and make choices. Everything is just too overwhelming now. 

“You sure know that I’ve never liked you” Jon continues. The candles on the table are almost all burnt out. “I couldn’t stand you. You were arrogant, and I hated that I was jealous of you … because you were so close to him. I got over it at some point, I really did, but I can’t say I wasn’t feeling left out at times.”

He doesn’t even pronounce his name. Theon has to close his eyes for a second.

“I detested you even more at the feast, that damned time Robert Baratheon came to visit us. I was there, down the hall, literally at the opposite side of where you were all seated. I watched everyone making an entrance, my father… my siblings. Robb was offering his arm to Myrcella Lannister and he was tense because you had teased him so much about it.”

Theon wishes he remembered how to smile. He can’t even remember the last time he did.

“Then I saw you. You were there, closing the line. I saw you and I hated you because you weren’t a Stark either and yet you were there, ready to sit near them because of your name. I didn’t even care about the feast and I even like to think I enjoyed it more than you. I made sure I got to drink more than you were probably allowed to, anyway. I just hated the fact you were there.”

Theon listens to him but he’s also looking at the sky beyond the window.  
He can’t see the moon from where he’s sitting.

Jon isn’t done talking to him, he speaks harshly now. “Every time I tried to understand why you did it, I always remembered that night. And I really, really tried to understand, and I hate that I did. I even went too far thinking … well, he wasn’t part of the family, Theon, was he? He felt like he didn’t belong, but what about Robb then? He loved you, more than he ever loved me. He looked up to you, and respected you for what you were: an heir and the son of a Lord. I loved Robb and I know he loved me too, but I couldn’t even compete with you, could I?”

Theon can’t see the moon and he gets why.  
If the whole world was nothing but a huge sky taking over everything, over the land and the sea, he would be nothing more than a lost star, one that is particularly dim and small and has no purpose at all to excuse its presence. He would be a dying star ready to fall even before it’s born.  
In this scenario, Theon hopes he will be fortunate enough to fall into the sea.

Jon, however, would be the star that always indicates north, he thinks. He’s talking about their past in the north because the north is everything he has. He’s leading men in the north. He even plans to go further north to fight enemies that are not even humans, like a star that climbs the highest in the moonless night.  
Theon is still silent. He feels incredibly hot now, yet he’s shivering like he did the last time he rode a horse through the north. He stares at his trembling hands while he tries to make sense to the confusion in his head, and he tries to formulate an answer because he doesn’t want to defend himself, but he’s desperate to explain.  
He feels like he hasn’t spoken in his years. Words alone are nothing more than a meaningless series of letters, and this is incredibly different now.

“I don’t think it was fair, about the feast” he finally says. He’s careful in choosing the words and his voice is shaking a little. “I know that belonging to a Great House allowed me to be there, but it didn’t really do much else. It didn’t make my father like me. It didn’t bring my mother back. I tried to picture her face one day and I couldn’t. A name alone means nothing because family is much more than that."

Silence falls heavily between them. 

“I think of Robb every day of my life” he whispers. He says his name out loud and it’s painful, yet strangely comforting too.  
“I had no home anymore, and I was basically an hostage, but I had him. I should’ve died with him.”  
It’s hard to breathe now. He lowers his head again while he tries to keep it together, forcing himself to not break down.

“Aye. Perhaps you should’ve” Jon finally says, but he speaks in a way it feels like he’s agreeing with him instead of being intentionally hateful.  
He goes to leave without even looking at him, before changing his mind and turning towards him.  
  
“Look at me” he says, and Theon doesn’t want to but obliges anyway. He’s tired and he feels like he’s drowning and doing what he’s told is everything he has left.  
  
“Ramsay Bolton’s dead” Jon says slowly.  
   
Theon’s face trembles. He chokes up but he doesn’t even move.  
  
“Sansa said to me how she wished you were there to see him dead. I’m not sure you knew it but I thought I’d to tell you.”  
  
Theon stares at him until Jon is out of the room. Next thing he knows, hot tears are running down his face.  
He holds his head in his hands and closes his eyes, and when he sobs he hopes no one can hear him.

 

 

Theon dreams of the lady hidden behind the moon that night. He dreams of her long, silvery hair embracing him gently and caressing his face as he floats in the sea. It feels good until the grip is too tight and he gasps for air, and then the nameless lady turns into Ramsay and Theon doesn’t scream, he doesn’t even try to get away from him. He waits for death to come and take him and he thinks it could be worse, that at least he’s not dying far from the sea.

 

 

Daenerys finally comes back.

She has people to talk to and a wounded dragon to deal with. Everyone wants to speak to her and the castle becomes suddenly more vivacious, with daily war councils Theon is not exactly invited to. He supposes he shouldn’t even ask about it anyway. He waits out until things calms down and Daenerys has some time to waste on him, and spends his days sitting on the beach until it’s dark and everyone else has retired to their chambers.  
He doesn’t belong to this war anyway. Perhaps he never did, but he did believe in Robb then, and he believes in Yara now. 

If it wasn’t for his sister he wouldn’t even care about home, but it’s not indifference what he feels when he tries to remember his life on the islands.  
He has spent too many years away from them, but the time he actually did spend there, as distant and vague as it feels now, is filled with memories that make him feel alive. It doesn’t even matter if most of these memories are distressing, anyway.  
For years, in Winterfell, he blocked out the image of his crying mother begging Eddard Stark to not take him away from her.  
It’s funny because he thinks about it a lot, now. 

His feels like he can deal with these memories better. All the sad ones - his brothers tormenting him all the time and how he looked up to them nonetheless, and how he cried so hard when he was told they were dead, with loud sobs that lasted a whole night; his father that didn’t even dare look him in the eyes when he had to sail away, and their own people who turned on him and his sister ever since - they are just bits of life that, although sad, don’t necessarily make home an unpleasant thought, because he knows home can be more than that.  
He has more, like memories of rocky shores and salt and water and the moonshine sea, memories where the islands don’t have a name and they are just what he wants them to be, a strip of land surrounded by water and nothing more.  
  
If he won’t fight for himself or his land, he will fight for his sister. He will fight for Yara, who shines like the moon but she’s full of craters, too - like the quite desperation of growing up lonely and the hidden, constant pain of not being taken seriously because she’s not a man.

Yara who was crying silently and with dignity when he had to leave, like she didn’t want to make a scene. He still remembers her tears.  
He looked up to Yara as much as he looked up to his older brothers. She could run faster than him and do things he wasn’t able to, like every time she used to climb rocks and then laugh at him from the top while he begged her to come down.  
He remembers telling his mother than maybe it was his sister the person beyond the moon. 

“What are you talking about, silly boy” his mother would always reply. “Yara will never leave these islands.”

He can see the moon now. It’s as beautiful as it was in Pyke because it’s shining on the sea. He’s staring at it so intently he almost doesn’t notice someone approaching him, he turns around and inhales sharply when she sees the Queen walking towards him. Not too far, Missandei and the guards are watching the scene.

“Your Grace” he says quickly, and he’s about to get up but she shakes her head. 

“Stay.” She stops next to him, looking at the sea in front of her like she’s never seen anything like this before. 

“It’s cold out here, Your Grace”  Theon says. The wind is blowing heavily now.

“It’s fine. I need to prepare myself for this winter.”

“I heard your dragon was wounded.”

“Nothing too serious, fortunately” she replies.

He doesn’t know what to say. He wants to talk to her about Yara, it’s the reason why he’s here after all, but he doesn’t know where to begin, he doesn’t know how to tell her how much of a coward he was for abandoning his sister. He wishes she would give him orders, telling him what to do without leaving him a choice.  
He tries to say something but Daenerys anticipates him.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it? The harvest moon over water.” She gets closer to the water edge.

“When I accepted your allegiance, I did it because I knew I needed your ships, but that wasn’t the only reason, really. I thought we were somewhat similar, as I was born on an island, too.”  
  
Theon doesn’t know how to reply to that.

“I had to escape home, too. Don’t you think that makes us similar, in a way?”

“I don’t know, Your Grace” he murmurs, but he regrets his words instantly. It almost feels like he’s contradicting her, and contradicting the only person in the world who can help him getting Yara back is the last thing he wants. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He bows his head in shame and wonders how Ramsay would punish him if he was here.

“How come you don’t think so?” she asks, and when he looks up at her, she seems curious rather than offended.  

Theon breaths heavily and closes his eyes for a moment.  

“You’re free to speak here, Theon Greyjoy. I don’t want to be told I’m right when I’m not. I believe our fathers both paid for their inability to listen and there’s always something you can learn from people when you’re willing to do so.”

Theon wishes he could tell her that this is not how it works in Westeros. He wishes he could tell her how his body alone prevents people from taking him seriously, not to mention his weaknesses, his mistakes and all his failures.

“I’m not sure there’s anything you can learn from me, Your Grace.”  
  
Daenerys’ eyes are back on the sea.    
  
“This is not really true, is it? I lost faith in mankind many times before, but you were amongst those who proved me wrong. You never denied you mistakes and I appreciate that you think highly of your sister to the point of supporting her claim to the Seastone Chair. Tell me, Theon Greyjoy, how come we’re not too similar?” 

Theon doesn’t take his eyes off of the sea. He stays silent for a short while and when he starts talking his voice is shaking.

“There’s … there’s a lot of sea in Westeros, Your Grace, and other islands too, but the Ironborn are different. It’s hard to explain, really, I …”  
Theon breathes slowly. He collects his thoughts and tries again.  
  
“When you’re born on the Iron Islands, you’re baptised under water. It’s an awful long time and it was a very scary thing to see when I was a child. Everyone in Westeros thinks it’s almost barbaric, but I think they just underestimate how strong an infant can be. When they’re taken out of the water it’s almost like all the life has been sucked out of them, but then you see them cry. They scream and cry and they bring themselves back to life with all the strength they have … because what is dead may never die.” 

Daenerys doesn’t interrupt him, so he speaks again.

“I understand you don’t want the Ironborn to raid anymore, but there’s a reason behind that, too. We’ve been conquered and oppressed in the past, and having control of a set of islands in a strategic position has always tempted everyone. They took control of the shores and the ships, but they didn’t want to live there, not really, they realised how the circumstances weren’t favourable as the land is very hard to farm. I think that’s what made the Ironborn the way they are now, cynical and bitter. It’s our destiny, I believe.”  It’s the longest speech he has done in years, and the realisation makes his heart beat even faster now.

“Forgive me, Your Grace” he continues. “I’m not trying to defend my father nor the raiding. I can see now that his rebellion was pointless, and it’s the reason why I was taken away. I was treated nice among the Starks, but …”

“It wasn’t home” Daenerys says. 

“It doesn’t excuse my betrayal. I turned on Robb Stark and he was my brother and the closest thing to home I had left”.

“No” she agrees, “It doesn’t.”

A single tear escapes from his eye. He wipes it away instantly.

“Your sister has told me things about you. As far as I understand, you paid for what you did. You paid perhaps even more than that.”

Theon almost tells her what he has thought about the whole day, how he almost wanted to get into the water and let himself being dragged away by the waves. He has thought about offering himself to the sea, begging him to suffocate him until the Drowned God would show some mercy and take him with Him. 

“If I win this war, I want things to change” Daenerys says. She looks fierce and sincere. “I want for all the goods to be distributed fairly across the Kingdoms. Hopefully this will reduce the disparity, and the raids too. I can understand that having to live on water alone is not ideal.”

Theon takes a shudder breath. He smiles to himself and it's bittersweet, another tear makes its way down his cheek.

“I will help you get your sister back” she tells him. “I’m sorry I can’t do this as soon as you wish and I can only imagine how distressing this wait is for you. But I promise I will do anything I can, as soon as the moment is right.”

Theon nods. It’s not quite the answer he has hoped for, but it’s still enough to calm him a little.

“I need something in return.” She looks at him seriously. “I need you to be here with your heart and mind. You told me yourself about the baptism ritual on the Iron Islands, so do the same. Try to get back to to the surface and breathe.”  
  
While she walks away, Theon’s eyes are fixed on the moon once again.  
He was right. He’s always been right. It’s Yara the woman behind the moon, Yara who’s trying to get closer to the saline water.  
She’s the harvest moon falling onto the sea close enough so she can feel at home, even if it’s only for a little while.  
He doesn’t want to imagine a sky without the moon.

 

 

When Theon makes his way to the beach in a rainy morning, he fervently hopes no one else is there. The rain is falling so lightly he almost doesn’t feel it. It’s not going to last long, he thinks.  
However, he’s not alone. Not too far away from him, Davos is busy folding fishing nets and putting them back in a boat. Theon searches for Jon with his eyes, as the two are often seen together, but Jon is nowhere to be found this time. He doesn’t feel like he could endure another conversation with him, but he doesn’t mind Davos and he walks towards him, dragging his feet on the sand like he used to do on the snow back in Winterfell.  
The rough sea, agitated by the rain, creates a breeze that is stronger than usual and fills up his lungs almost painfully.

Davos looks up at him. “Lord Greyjoy” he greets him and again, Theon thinks he doesn’t deserve to be called like that. There’s a small part of him, though, that accepts the title with something that resembles gratitude. It’s not that he wants to be a ruler, he stopped wanting that a long time ago, but it’s the first time in his entire life these words are not being used with the intent of hurting him. Davos is neither mocking him nor doubting what he no longer wants to be.  
  
Theon nods at him. He looks at the boat fascinated and Davos seems to notice his interest.

“A poor crabber, my father was. In the worst slum, Flea Bottom. Perhaps you know.”

Theon has heard about the slums in King’s Landing, but he doesn’t feel like he knows enough to say anything about it.

“I made many mistakes in order to get out of there. Even lost some of my fingers, you know?”

He’s looking at him like his words are meant to say much more. Theon feels like his owns hands are burning.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now, it was a long time ago” Davos continues, “but I sure still love the crabs and the sea. ”

Theon stays silent.    
  
“It’s raining” he tells him after a while, and he can’t believe this is the only thing he can bring himself to say.

Davos laughs. “Yes, and here we are.”

“I imagine you don’t miss your home much.”

“No …”  the older man frowns for a moment. “I don’t.”    
  
He goes back to unraveling his nets before speaking again.  
  
“Yet, you know … there are times I miss a few things of that hell of a place. Even the streets smelling like piss, you wouldn’t believe it. I suppose we all miss our childhood home in some way or another, don’t we?”

Theon stares at him intently.

“I travelled all the world” Davos continues, “seen the most beautiful places … all the Free Cities, across the Narrow Sea. Yet, I find myself thinking there are some things that are quite unique and special about Flea Bottom. Strange people we are, aren’t we?”  
  
It’s also strange how Theon’s heart is beating so fast and it’s not even out of fear.  
  
“It happens to me, too” he rushes to say, and he can’t believe he’s actually feeling excited to have a conversation with someone. “I compare places all the time. I always think about how the moon looked so beautiful where I was born, but I spent many years in the north and I remember how pretty the stars were there.”

“Aye” Davos replies. “Stars are quite wonderful up north, aren’t they? Much brighter.”

Theon nods in agreement.

“Everything changes except for this rain” he says quietly. “The rain feels the same everywhere.”

“How do you think it feels?” Davos asks him.

Theon thinks about it.

“Inopportune, I suppose. Inconvenient. Useless, really.”

“I heard it rains a lot in Pyke. Never been myself. Not the best place for a smuggler.”

There’s the hint of a weak smile on Theon’s face. “It does rain a lot.”

Theon thinks he can’t shine like the sun. He doesn’t think he will ever get back to what he used to be, he is not open to changes like the clouds are. He doesn’t feel like has a role in this world anymore, unlike the stars that lead people home when they’re lost. He looks malnourished, and weak, and covered in ugly scars that will never fade, and he doesn’t even know how he dares look at the magnificence of the moon every night.  
If he had to compare himself to something, he thinks, he wouldn’t be anything more than this rain.  
He would be the rain when it falls weakly and has no consistency, no reason to exist, no function other than to make people’s journey more difficult.

“Well, about the rain …” Davos thinks about it for a moment before he continues. “Yes, we can say people don’t really like it much. Sure it can get ugly, with storms and stuff, and I assure you, the huge puddles in Flea Bottom are not a pretty sight. Too much mud and they smell like shit.”

Theon lowers his head. He feels exhausted. 

“Here’s what I think, though” Davos says. “What would we be without the rain? Nothing, I believe. We wouldn’t even be alive.” 

Theon has to take a deep breath as he looks up at him.

“It’s water that falls from the sky! One could think of some sort of miracle. It falls into the water, a pretty sight, really, when you get to see that, and it doesn’t even drown. It falls so it can become the sea.”

Tears are threatening to fall from Theon’s eyes.   
He turns to face the sea, he doesn’t want to be seen like this. He walks towards the water edge and then even further until the water reaches his knees.  
He washes his face, sobbing into his hands. The rain falls gently onto the sea and Theon stands right there between water and salt.  
He has fallen, just like the rain, but the sea holds him tight, it reminds him that he still has a place in the world.  
The sea never forgets about its children.  
It doesn’t matter if the past will come back to haunt him soon. For now, he allows himself to be caressed by the water.  
He doesn’t want to drown.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this before I even read the prompts for Droughtjoy 2017, so the result is a story that partially covers a few different prompts. I usually write things and keep them to myself, cause self-consciousness + not being a native speaker is quite the combo.  
> But this time I thought, well, let's try. Theon is my favourite character out ASOIAF/GOT AND my favourite character in general, for many different reasons.  
> Amongst these reasons there's the fact that I'm from an island, too.


End file.
